


Park Bench

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Harley Quinn - Fandom, Poison Ivy - Fandom
Genre: College AU, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, More tags added as I go, Romance during a Pandemic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: New semester, new chance for Harleen Quinzel to get a bit of a clean slate. Barely surviving her dying relationship with a predatory, abusive jerk, she finds herself obsessed with gorgeous goth redhead sharing her study space.But that girl has her own secrets and her own darkness. Can Harley reach her?
Relationships: Harley Quinn/Joker, Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn
Comments: 17
Kudos: 67





	1. New Horizons

**Author's Note:**

> The college AU no one asked for. I've been meaning to do an enemies to lovers thing for a bit, so here are the beginnings of something that might end up lasting a while.

The Park Bench

**Monday**

She had her backpack. She had her mask. She had a couple of the books she’d need for the semester. She even had her favorite drink from the local Gotham version of Starbucks, a coffee place called Bat Percs, and they served a pumpkin spice latte with espresso called...the Scarecrow...and no she couldn’t have made that up if she tried, but she had one of those as well.

Harleen didn’t like being here and wasn’t one hundred percent sure about a semester during a freaking pandemic, but if she wanted to graduate on time...if she wanted her life plan to work out and stay on track, she had to get some classes out of the way.

That didn’t mean she wanted to spend time indoors for the next three months with Gotham U’s practically fossilized air system and swim around in a petri dish of virus air, so when her lunch break neared, she grabbed a coffee, hoisted her backpack, and started poking her way around the backside of campus near the woodline of the park, hoping to find a bench to relax on and maybe get some homework done. 

Study at home was--challenging. Jay didn’t like her going to school, in fact had snarked at her that morning when he dropped her off on campus. “I don’t know why you’re even fucking bothering, Harley. No one’s gonna take you seriously as a therapist and all you’ll end up doing is listening to a bunch of fuckin’ libtards try to brainwash you.”

She’d played it off, played the ditz, which was usually the best way to disarm him when he started building up to a rant. She knew he was wrong--the way she generally managed his moods was proof she had a knack for reading people and getting to the heart of their issues. Right now, in fact, she was wearing a mask she had to hide from him, because he didn’t believe the pandemic was real and the masks were, in his words, bullshit.

No, she wouldn’t ruin her first day of school stressing about Jay. 

Gotham University faced the city proper but its backside skirted the woodline of Kannigher Park, the walking trail literally running parallel to the small stone fence for a hundred yards or so. It was a little creepy back there, with almost no sunlight, and it was basically deserted. A single concrete sidewalk wound its way through a smattering of trees, bushes, and shrubs. Harley followed it around, sipping her coffee, hoping to find a bench or picnic table that was unoccupied.

There was one, and someone was already sitting there.

It was a bench, maybe eight feet long, and a girl had claimed the right-most couple of feet. Harley approached quietly, because the girl was bent over a thick, heavy textbook. Next to her was a legal pad and a pen, and as Harley approached, she noted the girl turning her attention to the pad and quickly writing before turning back to her work. She had pink earbuds in, and seemed to be oblivious to Harley’s presence. When Harley approached the end of the bench, she glanced up.

Whoever she was, she was a stunner. Harley almost gasped aloud.

She was pale, with glossy magazine-perfect skin--the kind of flawless complexion most women would kill for--and the most intense eyes Harley’d ever seen on a human being. They were green, but a green so vivid she wondered if the girl were wearing special effect contact lenses. They reminded her a little of Jay’s, only, opposite. Jay had black eyes that never seemed to reflect any emotion, a doll’s eyes, a shark’s eyes. As much as Jay’s eyes fascinated her, they also creeped her out.

This girl’s eyes were the inverse of that. They shone with emotion, with life. Mild curiosity and maybe a hint of annoyance greeted her, reflected in those eyes. 

She had a heart-shaped face, and those eyes--those tilted, exotic eyes that were so difficult to describe--were lined in thick, perfect eyeliner. The girl’s whole look was pretty goth, if Harley had to put a name on it, especially with the black lipstick and heavy eye makeup. Her curly hair was the color of fire, or blood, or she didn’t know, every shade of red she knew. It hung loose, framing her face, outlining cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, but it was tucked into a black beret.

She was wearing glasses, and they were a cat eye lens, perched on her pert nose. She wore dangly earrings that swung when she turned her head, a black lace choker around her slender neck, a black sweater, long black skirt that appeared to be multiple strips of shear cloth that worked together to be opaque, and thick-soled, platform-heeled boots. Fingerless, lace gloves with long, shiny, black nails. The black was set off by a silver necklace hanging outside her sweater with a pentacle on it.

She looked like some sort of witch, or maybe a gothic faerie. The whole effect was striking.

Harley met her gaze and kind of half smiled, pointed at the bench. She didn’t speak, assuming the girl couldn’t hear her with the headphones on. The girl flicked her gaze up and down Harley, seemed to be unimpressed, and shrugged a single shoulder, then turned back to her book, clearly dismissing her.

It stung.

Harley felt horribly conventional next to the girl’s exotic, gothic beauty. She literally looked like she was ready for an Instagram shoot, and Harley was in ratty jeans, rattier tennis shoes, and a Gotham Knights tee shirt, her dishwater blonde hair in a ponytail, no makeup to speak of, thick rimmed glasses.

She knew better than to dress up when going anywhere without Jay--he assumed she was dressing up for someone else if she did. _At least,_ she thought with a wry smile as she settled herself on the end of the bench, _she wasn’t trying to conceal any bruises._ It had been some time since Jay’d hit her.

For her part, the girl studiously ignored her, working, occasionally checking her phone. You could tell a lot about a girl’s phone--Harley’s was a smorgasbord of bling, sparkles, Hello Kitty, garishly pink and the goth chick (that’s what Harley had labeled the girl in her head) had a perfectly black phone with a red rose design on the back of the case. Next to her she had a simple cloth bag, the kind you might find at a farmer’s market. Occasionally she’d reach down for something in it, like her pen case. Once, she pulled out a compact and studied herself.

Harley was trying to enjoy her latte and not think about the goth chick, but she couldn’t help her curiosity. You didn’t often come across a model in the wild. She noted the goth chick was working in a thick botany textbook and had a spiral bound lab journal to match she occasionally referenced.

Her break was up around three, and she felt the urge to pee coming on. The goth chick hadn’t moved much in that time, and eventually Harley packed up her things. The goth chick didn’t even glance her way.

_What a bitch,_ thought Harley.

Then, shrugging, she made her way to English Comp II. Well. Bathroom first.

**Tuesday**

She didn’t honestly know why she did it.

That morning she took the time to put on a little foundation, a little mascara. She wore a denim skirt that made her ass look good, and honestly, it did. Years of gymnastics made her solid and she’d managed to stay in relatively good shape. Her toned arms, legs, and bottom were her best attributes, she knew.

That still didn’t explain why she felt compelled to make even a little effort on her appearance. She hadn’t noticed any guys on her first day of classes that even caught her eye, not that she was looking, of course. She was going to marry the love of her life, soon. She and Jay had been together since her Sophomore year of High School, and she’d dropped out of Cheerleading and Gymnastics for him. It hurt to lose the scholarships, but her parents were pretty well off, and though her grades had suffered that Senior year because of too many absences, she still pulled a high enough GPA to look pretty good, and she’d blown away her SATs. Harley was quite a bit smarter than anyone gave her credit for.

So why did she check herself in the ladies’ room mirror before heading out to the bench?

No amount of primping was going to make her even noticeable next to that kind of hotness, some part of her knew that. And it’s not like she was gay or something. She didn’t have an interest in the goth chick like that. I mean, she’d kissed Destiny Fairchild at a house party her Junior year, but it was only because there was a lot of booze and everyone was watching and chanting. Even Jay had been chanting, and he was in his 20s at the time and buying the booze for everyone.

She tried not to think about it.

When she got to the bench, the goth chick wasn’t there. For a brief moment, she felt a weird sense of crushing disappointment, and she didn’t know why. The girl had barely noticed her yesterday. She was an ice queen.

Sighing, she grabbed the same spot and cracked open her Pscyhe textbook, resolving to do her reading before class.

She’d been at it for an hour when she heard the clicking of heels and the goth chick rounded the bend.

She was wearing a short, gauzy skirt, fishnets tucked into knee high stiletto boots, and a breezy green blouse that was low cut enough to show off some luscious cleavage. 

Jesus fuck, she’s tall, thought Harley. Unthinking, she shot to her feet at sight of the goth chick, and next to Harley’s paltry 5’3 she was an amazon. _She’s six feet if she’s an inch,_ thought Harley, _and in those heels was probably around 6’4._ It meant Harley was eye level with her tits, and those were huge. Harley amended her assessment from ‘model’ to ‘porn star.’ 

The new tag fit well--the goth chick’s insanely full, pouty lips were painted a blood red that just screamed SIN.

The girl paused a moment when Harley stood, one perfectly sculpted brow shot up.

“Uhm, hi, sorry.”

The goth chick tilted her head slightly and regarded Harley like one might regard a particularly gross bug. She didn’t speak.

“Sorry, I’m Harley. I...uhm...I didn’t know if it would be ok for me to sit here again today, and…”

The goth chick cut her off. “It’s not my bench, sit where you like.”

“You, don’t mind? I didn’t want to--” she was going to finish with ‘invade your space,’ but the other girl cut her off.

“I don’t care.” Dismissing her, the girl brushed past Harley in a whiff of jasmine perfume. She sat, situated herself, and proceeded to ignore Harley entirely, once more.

_She didn’t even tell me her name,_ thought Harley, feeling slighted, and feeling a little angry.

_What a fucking bitch._


	2. First Week Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of the red haired goth beauty deepens.

**Wednesday**

Everything was fucked up.

She’d gotten a late start that morning, getting high with Jay last night was a mistake, but for a change he’d been interested in sex, so she’d done her best, but he’d stayed pretty soft, no matter how much she’d coaxed, and it’d taken all her hard won skill to get him to climax.

Half out of it, he’d mumbled sorry and passed out, so she’d swallowed, crept to the bathroom, and finished herself off. It hadn’t been easy, she’d still been feeling the effects of the joint and was angry and disappointed in Jay. The guy at the coffee shop was her usual go to fantasy partner, and she’d been picturing his lean body and big hands with their long, clever fingers as she’d touched herself, but it wasn’t working.

She’d surprised herself when she’d shifted gears and pictured vivid, sparkling green eyes. Full, lush, shiny red lips.

It’d worked, and she’d had to shove her other hand in her mouth to muffle her moans. Good God, Jay would not have been happy if he’d caught her masturbating. That was worth a beating and she really didn’t want to spend half the semester covering up bruises.

She’d sat on the toilet, shaking in surprise at how intense it was, and trying not to examine too closely the idea that she’d pictured a woman with both fingers shoved inside her and came so hard she’d nearly fell over. “I’m not gay.” She’d said it quietly to herself, her voice hoarse and heart still pounding. “I’m just not happy with Jay and reaching for a lifeline. That’s all it is.”

She’d eventually cleaned herself up and crept back to bed in the darkened bedroom. Jay was a sprawling sleeper, taking up most of the full sized bed when he slept, and so she’d curled up on the edge next to him, desperate to not wake him, and drifted off.

It’d taken a lot to get herself up and around, and one look at her snoring boyfriend told her she wasn’t getting a ride that morning, so she’d chosen some tennis shoes that were comfortable and walked to the college.

It wasn’t a terrible walk, honestly, and it was a sunny and cool day, Autumn was slowly creeping in, changing the general feel of the city, painting it with fall colors and pumpkin spice smells. Her morning class was boring and she’d struggled to pay attention, but after it was over she’d waited in line and gotten a big fancy latte piled high with whipped cream and a pastry, and with her backpack slung, she carefully made her way to the park bench.

The goth chick was there, and while Harley colored a little at the thought of what she’d done last night, she also felt a sense of relief. She was intensely curious, that was all, the beautiful girl was a fascinating mystery, and Harley’s life was so...miserable...it was fun to take her mind off things, if just for a bit.

The girl hadn’t noticed her yet, so Harley paused a moment, making a show of looking at her phone for anyone else watching, to take a moment to study her.

She was sitting very straight, but bobbing her head slightly, and Harley realized the girl had her earbuds in and must’ve been listening to music. The motion made her red curls bounce. At the moment, her books were closed and on the bench next to her, but there was a little wooden container of strawberries and a water bottle next to her. She was selecting a strawberry as Harley watched. A tablet was in her lap and with her other hand she was casually scrolling what looked like Twitter from this distance, but Harley couldn’t be sure. She was wearing a miniskirt, stockings in a spider web pattern, black ankle boots with tall heels, a corset top that made her waist look very small and emphasized her lush cleavage. Her arms were bare today, and Harley could see a tattoo of a swirling, sinuous vine running the length of her left arm and disappearing into her top.

Harley approached the bench and saw the girl glance her direction. Harley flashed a half hopeful smile, and for once, the girl didn’t dismiss her or look away--just arched a perfect eyebrow and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Progress?

She sat and pulled out her books. Jay was blowing up her phone, texting, demanding to know where she was and what she was doing. She’d kind of hoped a half-assed (on his part) BJ would keep his temper under control, but no luck. She dreaded going home.

She glanced over just as the goth chick raised a strawberry to her lips, and Harley stared. The girl wasn’t wearing as much makeup today--just some eyeliner and mascara, but she didn’t really need it. Her skin was glowing and flawless, and as her full lips wrapped around the berry and she bit in, it was easy to get lost. Harley gulped as she chewed, swallowed, then licked her lips.

Realizing she was staring, she awkwardly glanced away, but then the girl spoke.

“They’re from the farmer’s market. I go every Wednesday morning. Would you like one?” Her voice was breathy, kind of deep and raspy, and Harley knew the contrast between her own high pitched nasal drone didn’t exactly do her any favors. She glanced back and the girl was holding out the little wooden crate, her expression entirely neutral.

“I...uhm...yes, thank you.” Harley said, kind of mumbling, and she delicately grabbed one of the strawberries. It was firm and juicy, very fresh, and honestly delicious. 

“I realize I’ve been rather rude, and you seem to be determined to sit here. It’s not my place to tell you to move. I ask that you leave me alone because I have a lot of work to do and it’s vital that I do as well in my coursework as possible, and I’d honestly rather not have to move on to find another secluded space like this. My name is Pamela.” Harley stared, fascinated at the way her lips shaped the words, the flash of a tongue stud, the musical sound of her deep voice, and the hints of an accent--southern? Her name was Pamela.

“Oh, ok. I’ll try not to be a distraction, my name is--” she was cut off.

“Harley, yes, you told me. If you’d like any more, feel free. Now if you’ll excuse me.” The conversation, if it could be called that, seemed to be at an end. Pamela placed the little crate between them, put in her earbuds, and promptly began ignoring Harley entirely.

**Thursday**

_Fuck, I’m sore,_ thought Harley.

Last night she’d decided to hit the gym for the first time in months. Low impact weight training, and yet she still felt it every time she moved. For the past few months she’d felt no motivation to work out, no reason to care, and yet, suddenly, the past few days at any rate, she’d been feeling it keenly--a general feeling of low energy, of an ache in the muscles from disuse. Once upon a time, Harley was an athlete, a genuine prospect for the Olympic gymnastics team. In high school it’d been her focus to the exclusion of all else for a time, along with Cheerleading and modeling, but then she’d met Jay.

God, Jay made her FEEL things. She’d fallen so in love, but he was...different...from the other boys. Older, more worldly, more tuned in. He knew the secrets and lies behind what the media told the sheeple, and through him, Harley came to understand too. There was no point in caring. The world was a joke, and trying was fucking pointless.

One by one, she’d dropped out of her interests. Cheerleading had to go, obviously, having pep, being positive, being popular...what a joke. Her grades fell off as she missed more and more school. What difference did it make? Why care about college? Then she was cut from the Gymnastics team due to failing grades and attendance, and by the time they cut her, she just couldn’t bring herself to give a shit. Jay’d been proud of her when she was done with high school. They got an apartment together. He’d had money then, from a big score.

She’d gotten a job as a waitress, tips paying for rent, utilities, and drugs. Sometimes groceries, but more often than not leftover food she snuck home from the diner. Jay was still trying to get another big score going, still hustling, the idea of a normal nine to five laughable given his record. It was her parents stepping in, offering to pay for classes and give her money in excess of her typical take home from the diner. The accident, Barry’s death, left her mom with more than enough cash and her dad in prison. Harley didn’t get along with her mom, not really, but she wasn’t too proud to take a little cash from her either.

Harley knew she wasn’t going to the Olympics, but her dream of becoming a therapist was in reach, and that’s what she was working toward here at Gotham State. It wasn’t exactly Harvard, but you played the hand of cards you were dealt.

She was sore enough that she winced when she sat on the park bench, no sign of the beautiful goth girl, Pamela. Harley tried not to think about her, set up her laptop, logged into GSU’s assignment software to do online math problems--not one of her stronger suits--and sipped at her mocha latte.

Pamela rounded the corner an hour or so later. She was tall and gorgeous in a black mini dress, very short skirt, fishnets, calf high platform heeled boots. Her curls were tucked into a black beret, and she was wearing black lipstick and heavy eyeliner. Tentatively, Harley smiled at her, and those cool green eyes flicked her direction and she gave the barest of nods as she swept past in a swirl of subtle jasmine scent. 

Pamela sat, crossed her legs, divested herself of a backpack and carefully laid her cloth bag next to it. Harley made a point of continuing to work as Pamela put in her ear buds and studied her phone for a while, occasionally tapping out replies or texts of some kind or another with her long, black shiny nails. 

A particular problem was giving Harley fits, and the third time she grunted in exasperation she was shocked when Pamela asked her, “Is something wrong?”

Harley gaped at her. Generally speaking, the past few days, the red head studiously ignored her and everything about her, but the girl had a perfect brow raised.

“I...well...I’m not great at math and this problem is killin’ me,” she muttered, wondering if she looked the way she felt, like a deer caught in the headlights. In response, Pamela stood, took a few graceful steps toward her, and then sat, peering at her screen.

“May I see?”

Her presence, so close, was overwhelming. Harley didn’t understand why this girl hit her like a bag of hammers, but she found herself trying to force words through her suddenly dry mouth, feeling her heart race.

“I, uh, sure.” She turned her laptop so Pamela could see. In response, the girl opened her spiral notebook to a blank page, wrote the problem down, and then quietly and precisely walked Harley through it.

Harley felt like she’d been poleaxed, and when Pamela underlined the answer in her neat, meticulous handwriting and said, “Do you understand how I got to this?” Harley was staring at her, her gaze drawn to the other girl’s full, black lips so close to hers. Forcing her mouth closed, she managed to shake the cobwebs out.

“Yes, actually. Wow, you explain it better than the teacher. You’re really good at math!” she blurted, and the girl smiled faintly.

“I’m good at everything, but yes, I’m good at math.” She stood and walked back to her seat, dropping gracefully and then crossing her legs.

**Friday**

It hadn’t been a good night.

Jay’s buddies Eddie and Jon spent the evening gaming and getting baked at their place. 

Eddie was an obnoxious guy, pimply, shock of orange hair, self-proclaimed ‘sapiosexual,’ and proud king of ‘um, actually’ replies online. He had a nasal voice and a high pitched laugh that was like nails on a chalkboard. She caught him staring at her ass on occasion, especially when Jay wasn’t in the room, and she’d learned that despite her...modest...assets, even a hint of cleavage had him practically drooling, and that was even more irritating than listening to him brag about his link karma or whatever post he’d made that day on 1d4Chan.

Jon was a weird little dude obsessed with horror. Tall and rail thin, he looked like a special effect from an 80s era cheap horror movie or something you’d see on the cover of Fangoria. He seemed painfully shy, never actually speaking to her or meeting her eyes, but he was still more palatable than Eddy, and to be honest, it gave her a tiny little bit of a thrill to address him directly and see him blush furiously. 

_Yes, Jay, I’m still a girl with girl parts that your buddies will ogle, even if you won’t._

Harley didn’t begrudge Jay some gaming time. She played a little herself--she had a max level World of Battlecraft character (she’d desperately tried to get Jay to play with her but WoB was way too ‘kiddy’ for his tastes, his exact words about the Tanuki race being ‘I got better shit to do than to play with furries.’)

She just couldn’t sleep when they were up to 3 am on the X-Station, screaming insults into their headsets, chugging beers, and getting high. He’d never come to bed last night, and when she got up, jumped in the shower, and hurriedly dressed, she’d found them spread out, passed out on the couch, the floor, and the recliner. Beer bottles and full ashtrays, the whole room smelling like stale booze and cigarettes. It made her empty stomach lurch.

She’d left them like that, hoping they’d be gone by the time she returned home that evening. If she was totally honest with herself, she was worried it would put Jay in a mood going into the weekend.

Pamela was already at the park bench when she rounded the corner. Things were different today. Pamela was wearing a long coat, buttoned chin to ankles, and was quietly tapping away on her laptop. Her long curls were pulled away from her face in a topknot ponytail, with silver hoop earrings. In fact, with her ears visible, Harley could see each was pierced multiple times, upper and lower lobes, with silver studs and rings. A duffel bag was laying next to her, and a wardrobe bag was hanging from the back of the bench. Her makeup was laid on even thicker than normal--heavy eyeliner and mascara, smokey eyeshadow, contoured cheekbones, full lips painted a sinful blood red.

She didn’t have her earbuds in, so Harley smiled and said quietly, “Hi, Pam,” when she met her gaze. In return, the redhead favored her with a small smile. Not wanting to bug her, Harley sat down and started spreading out.

She wanted to ask about the luggage, but the difference between this almost tolerant version of Pamela and the coldly bitchy one she’d met on Monday was so great, she didn’t want to press her luck. 

Harley tried to pay attention to what she was doing, but it was difficult. She was burning with questions about Pamela’s new look, her makeup, the fact that the boots peeking out of the hem of her coat looked to be shiny, black, latex stiletto heels.

Then Pamela sighed, checked her phone, then packed up, slung the duffel bag, and swung the garment bag over her back.

Harley watched her walk away and wondered.


End file.
